Passings
by sf
Summary: A non-conversation between Sanzo and Hakkai. A little dissection on the former's thought processes, and, as such, from his point of view. One shot.


Written purely to get the scene out of my head. 83 implications, if you _want_ to see them. 

Rating : PG (for concept.) Minor angst.

Summary : A non-conversation between Sanzo and Hakkai. A little dissection on the former's thought processes, and, as such, from his point of view. One shot.

****

Passings  
by sf

__

Will you find the answer in all you say and do?  
Will you find the answer in you?

"The rain's stopped."

He replied with a nod, opting to answer by stubbing out the cigarette. For the first time in over three hours, he did not light a replacement. 

Across the table, Hakkai silently refilled their cups and pushed one towards him. "More sake?"

Sanzo nodded and accepted the cup. They'd been sitting there, ever since the rain started. They might have talked -- earlier -- but then again, they might not have; there was nothing left to talk about. There was nothing worth talking about it. He couldn't quite remember and he couldn't care less, as long as there was still sake in the bottle. 

Now there wasn't any more sake, but the patter of raindrops across the roof had ceased, and his nerves unwound, just a little. 

"It's late," Hakkai prompted him gently. 

Sanzo took a sip, drained the cup. "Past midnight." 

Another pause then, a hesistant one. He knew what was coming, choose not to hurry the inevitable.

"Sumimasen, Sanzo... I should be going. We need to catch up on our sleep."

He could have asked him to stay -- all it would take was the working of a few jaw muscles and his vocal cords. But such an action would have run contrary to his normal mannerisms, to his personality, to his fundamental nature.

Or perhaps, not _fundamental_ nature, but the nature he had grown to have, these ten years past...

Which made the dilemma all the more bitter. Such a request would have been a concession that he wanted another person's presence on this dark night. Less the risk admitting it to Hakkai, since he couldn't care less about what Hakkai thought about him; but the risk of admitting it to _himself_. It would be equivalent to laying dynamite at the base of his carefully constructed mental walls. 

Once a chink in the armor was achieved, any number of things could happen. 

He could have engaged in a moment of self-indulgent folly, but Genjo Sanzo was neither indulgent nor foolish, so he sat in silence, instead.

"Sanzo?"

He nodded in reply, tacit permission where none was necessary. Just Hakkai's way of being polite. Just Hakkai's way of expressing, perhaps, that he knew what went on in a troubled twenty-three year old's mind. 

And Hakkai's way of extending, not a helping hand, for that would have been slapped away, but a lifeline. A thread more insidious and more damaging than anything more obvious, for its very slenderness tempted acceptance. As if by accepting such a veiled offer of assistance, he would somehow be vindicated of the folly of the receipt.

But one such act would lead to another, and another. 

Hakkai stood, hardly making a sound as he pushed the chair back. But the soft swish of motion rained like a gale on Sanzo's ears, and he tightened his fingers around the cup for a moment. 

"Good night," Hakkai wished him politely, and made for the door.

He could still have called him back. Or he could have thought of any number of excuses to delay Hakkai's departure. A discussion of the next day's route. A tally of their supplies and any purchases they would need to make before their departure. Hakkai would have stayed, would have talked it over with him. If only for a little while. 

A handful of seconds spent in idle conversation were infinitely better than a handful of seconds spent staring into the night.

"Hakkai--"

The younger man paused, a hand on the doorknob, a silhouette against the brighter light of the corridor behind.

But to call him back, to delay him, would be to deny him much needed rest for no good reason at all. To call him back for purely selfish reasons ... would have run against the grain of all practicality and good sense. Hakkai was their only driver and their road the next day was a long one. And Hakkai was tired.

And one such act would lead to another, and another. To a string of dependencies that he could not afford. 

__

Be strong, his master had told him in parting. 

__

Want was not the same as _need_ -- he did not _need_ companionship this night... and to act on a _want_ would have been, in a circular sort of way, a concession; and such a concession would have been a weakness.

"Yes?" Hakkai asked.

__

Stay, he thought.  
"...Good night," he said. And turned away.   
"Good night."

He heard the door shut quietly. There was the sound of receding footsteps down the corridor. 

And the room seemed somehow darker than before.

--  
End  
--

December 26th 2002


End file.
